


Optimum State of Content

by LanaDelRae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanaDelRae/pseuds/LanaDelRae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They share a bedroom now, Sherlock must really try and remember that little bit of information.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Optimum State of Content

**Author's Note:**

> A short and sweet little piece of fluff I whipped up this weekend. Inspired by the wonderful piece of fan art by Max Kennedy!

 

It was already half past one in the morning when John heard the familiar footsteps of his flatmate ascend the stairs.

_Wait, what?_

Cracking one eye open, he glanced over to the right side of their bed. No one there except a jumble of tousled sheets. John groaned, rolling his eyes and burrowing himself further into the comforter. It was not unlike the consulting detective to slip out at odd hours, but ever since John had moved his stuff into Sherlock’s bedroom it was becoming less frequent.

Or at least he thought so.

John blinked (because frankly, that’s what it felt like) and the old clock on their nightstand now read 2:56 AM. Oh, fantastic. He blinked a few more times, letting the dark numbers come into focus. No, that was indeed right. He turned around, arm outstretched expecting it to lightly drape across Sherlock’s chest, only it fell flat onto cold sheets.

He craned his head, already agitated about waking up twice during sleep and now having to deal with an absent boyfriend. He had a few words with himself in his mind, weighing the choice to remain in his cocoon or find Sherlock. They were both grown men, they knew how to take care of themselves. John scoffed. That was textbook adulthood. Sherlock strayed so far from textbook adult he had created his own definition of being entirely. And there was the nagging fact that he loved to experiment at this hour- particularly with the experiments John yelled at him for during the day. Bed or hunt for the detective?

The latter won out; it always did.

“Jeeeeesus, Sherlock,” He growled, throwing the warm covers off him and yanking open the bedroom door. His eyes stung and his pupils contracted so severely he threw his palms over them. All the lights were blaring in their flat. Gradually letting his eyes adjust, he squinted around the kitchen. The refrigerator and freezer door were wide open and the tea kettle was just about boiling.

Okay, _now_ he abandoned all courtesy to their neighbors and Mrs. Hudson. He was going to quietly search for Sherlock, maybe coax him back into bed with a kiss and a promise to visit the morgue tomorrow afternoon- but not now.

He wanted his furious foot falls to be known.

“ _Sherlock_!” He bellowed, rounding the corner into the living room. There he was, head hanging over the seat of the sofa as his long legs were completely straight and vertical against the back, resting against the wall.

John had a fleeting vision of Mrs. Hudson slapping Sherlock’s barefeet away from the wallpaper and insisting he not act so childish. He forced his smirk back and stared down the other man.

“Hello, John!” Sherlock’s upside down head smiled at him. His curls were falling from his scalp like some sort of exotic weeping willow.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?! It’s nearly three in the fucking morning!”

Even upside down, Sherlock’s features noticeably scrunched, his eyes narrowing, looking John up and down in all his pajama glory.

“You’re angry,” Sherlock stated dully.

“Yes! Bravo, excellent piece of deduction there!” He crossed his arms then uncrossed them when he decided he would be able to calm down a bit if all the lights weren’t assaulting him. He switched off the living room light and the table lamp by Sherlock’s desk. He then promptly turned the tea kettle off because god forbid they have another incident like last month’s.

“No, John! I’m trying to keep myself awake long enough for this experiment to be complete,” Sherlock shouted at the doctor, not budging from his awkward position.

“No,” John whirled around, holding up a finger and wagging it at him. His tone had taken on its military one, that much was evident to Sherlock. “What could you possibly be doing? You just said yourself you’re tired. Let’s just go to bed,” Sherlock maintained his stare. “Please,” John added begrudgingly.

“I had a thought before I fell asleep and I needed to test it,” Sherlock began. “Amount of blood rushing to the head at this angle and the side effects, simple really. Which essential brain functions slow, how much evidence of swelling, etc. This new case, with the baker found dead in his own shop, I really think this could-”

Before he could go any further John pivoted on his heel, just as if he were in formation, facing, and marched back down the hallway, his head held high. He was in no mood to listen to Sherlock blather on about a case at this hour. A case that he was surprised the detective was even taking an interest in seeing as he waved it off as a “5” before.

Sherlock’s mouth hung open, partially because of his upside down state, but mostly because his boyfriend (was that the correct terminology? It still felt very odd to think, let alone say out loud) had just walked out on him. He needed to finish his thought, he wanted John to know about this breakthrough. With a swift, clockwise motion of a pendulum swinging down, his legs hit the floor and he sprung himself up.

“ _Oh for god sake_ , I didn’t ask you to come check on me!” Sherlock followed him and was in their doorway when he felt the excess blood retreating from his head. He swayed on the spot, bracing himself against the door frame as his head tingled and the blush left his cheeks.

John was already safely entwined in the blankets again, that much was evident in the darkened room. Sherlock flicked the light switch up, flooding their bedroom with light. A murderous, muffled voice came through the covers.

“I will not hesitate to move back upstairs, Sherlock,” it said. “You have no consideration for others sometimes, it really baffles me.” Sherlock frowned, slightly hurt.

He shrugged his dressing gown off and tossed it on the floor, leaving him in just his pinstriped pajama pants and white tee shirt. He stood in the middle of the room, bouncing softly on the balls of his feet as he mulled over what to do. He was still adjusting to this whole “couple” thing. This was their bedroom now. Not just a place where he could store a bed and use it on the off chance he actually wanted to sleep.

****

The truth was, the room had an entirely different air about it now that John had moved in. A warm, welcoming, air to be exact. Sherlock never spent much time in his bedroom because, well, like the rest of him, it exuded a cold, offputting vibe. But just like the rest of him, John had managed to change that. He never wanted John to think he was being inconsiderate to that fact, never.

Sherlock coughed, reinstating his presence as he walked to the edge of their bed.

“Well the good news is, the bakery murder is fairly obvious now,” he forced a laugh, hoping John would join in. “Actually, it could be cleared as accidental murder, despite its mysterious circumstances,” he continued on, the unmoving lump under the sheets did not respond. “I was thinking we could grab breakfast at Speedy’s and pay Lestrade a visit, this will no doubt shock his amatuer…”

He trailed off, letting a puff of air escape his mouth and pursing his lips. He had not factored this aspect of “together” in yet. This was a fight? Yes, it had all the hallmarks of one if his observations were correct; and they always were. He knew the step he had just completed, “diffusing the situation,” was as successful as he could get it, but it was the next step he would have trouble with- admitting he was in the wrong. John was usually always eager to hear his deductions, always the rare human being that didn’t think him a complete pretentious prick. But then again, John Watson was more human than Sherlock could ever be, despite what John said at his grave, and he needed human things. Like apologies and sleep and touch.

Biting his lower lip, he decided this was something that would happen and to keep John, he would need to suck it up, to be quite frank. He quickly switched the light back off and swept into bed in one swift motion. He leaned over the form of John, pulling the covers from his head to expose the tuft of hair and his face. He leaned in, mouth nearly touching his ear.

“John?” He whispered, perched over the doctor. He wanted to touch him so badly. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around the strong form and for everything to be alright. He found his mind could not function properly with the road block of a domestic tossed in.

Sherlock snuggled under the covers, tentatively inching closer to John. He sighed heavily and let the words tumble out of his mouth before he could think about it anymore.

“I- I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep pattern.”

John slowly shifted around, grabbing Sherlock’s face in his hands. Sherlock’s eyes were wide, not really sure of what to expect from the sleep deprived army doctor. He maintained a healthy distance between him incase John suddenly snapped. And as if expecting a scolding, Sherlock almost jumped out of his skin when John kissed him full on the lips. Sherlock, gathering himself, responded happily.

“That’s it,” John said simply, pulling away. “That’s all you need to do you gigantic diva, just apologize and we can move on with our lives.”

Sherlock stared at him blankly before wrapping both arms around him followed by both legs. His head of curls were overcoming John’s face and the doctor couldn’t help but smile.

“Jesus Christ, get your feet off me!” He jumped the instant Sherlock’s bony toes came in contact with John’s bare skin. “They’re bloody freezing, why do you never wear socks? Are they made of ice?” He tried desperately to squirm away but Sherlock only grinned, holding him closer.

“Who wears socks to bed, John? That’s just illogical,” He entwined his long legs around John’s shorter, muscular ones and brought the doctor’s head to his chest. “Besides, how am I expected to warm them?”

“You’re an ice queen, perhaps you should think about getting your circulation checked out,” John mumbled, allowing Sherlock to curls his toes around his feet.

“Acrocyanosis,” Sherlock responded. “I thought you were the one with medical training in this relationship.”

John squeezed Sherlock’s side, which sent the consulting detective flailing, arms now protectively wrapped around his own torso. John couldn’t keep his grin down any longer. Here, at 3:15 in the morning, he and Sherlock Holmes were “resolving their issues.” John hovered over him, mesmerized by the street light catching Sherlock’s eye.

“As your doctor I would strongly advise you put a pair of socks on if you want to keep your place in this bed.”

He caught Sherlock’s lips before he could even utter a snarky reply, very much enjoying the stark contrast of his ice cold toes to his warm, full lips- although he would never admit that. All that blood rushing to his head had at least done some good. Sherlock tentatively placed his hand on the back of John’s neck, keeping him in place as their lips moved together. John gently pulled away with a chuckle.

“I’m sorry- I don’t really, I’m not-” Sherlock was stumbling over his words, a rare occurrence.

“I don’t care,” John replied softly, placing a huge kiss on Sherlock’s cheek. The detective bit his bottom lip, laugh lines enveloping his features; the ones John loved.

“I just want to sleep...with you,” John muttered, placing his head back down on Sherlock’s chest. “Do me that favor?”

“I have ice for feet, John, and I am utter rubbish at being in...whatever relationship this is,” he was shocked he choked out that last part. It didn’t seem to phase John, though. He simply wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock and let his head come to rest comfortably under Sherlock’s chin.

“I keep you up at all hours, I destroy our flat on a weekly basis,” Sherlock continued.

“Daily.”

“Hush! I just, I suppose I would just prefer your optimum state of content. I’m sure you’re aware of the effects erratic sleep has on people, I really can’t have my blogger missing vital pieces of...stuff, you know...important stuff,” his voice was quickly becoming groggy. His ever-alert eyes were fluttering as his breathing slowed, lending John a beautiful heartbeat to fall asleep to.

“Mmm,” was all John could mutter. He placed a kiss on Sherlock’s chest before he forgot and wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s, letting his frigid feet serve as a sort of temperature stabilizer.

“I only...love you...John...and I wish the...wish to…”

The last thing Sherlock remembered before actually falling into REM sleep was the amazing feel of his fingers working through the soft hair at the back of John’s neck and his warm, strong body acting as the only blanket Sherlock would ever need.


End file.
